


haastal

by MageOfCole



Series: Cole Does Comfortember 2020 [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aayla Secura Lives, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Child Death, Clone Troopers Deserve Better (Star Wars), Comfort, Comfortember 2020, Established Relationship, F/M, Get Fucked Palpatine, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Little Spoon CC-5052 | Bly, Memories, Nightmares, Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Jedi Deserve Better, War, no order 66
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageOfCole/pseuds/MageOfCole
Summary: (lasting emotional scar)There had been a village, once, one that Bly still dreams of, even after the war, after the Chancellor had been exposed as the Sith Lord. Bly still remembers the smell of rot lingering in his nose and clinging to his armour; there hadn't been any survivors, but that didn't mean that they hadn't tried to save who they could.(No.11 - PTSD)
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Cole Does Comfortember 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998382
Comments: 26
Kudos: 137





	haastal

There had been a village, once, small and unimportant and innocent, on a planet Bly couldn’t even remember the name of. Life would have been simple there, happy, with children playing in the streets, unafraid in their simple little community. Bly can imagine them in his mind’s eye, farming and selling their wares, and living in harmony with their neighbours, unaffected by the War and feeling safe in their anonymity. There was nothing there for the Separatists to take, no reason for anyone to bother them, but they had been in the way. The clankers had burned the village, razed it to the ground, and left the remains for the 327th to comb through as they followed the tracks they left behind.

Bly still remembers the smell of rot lingering in his nose and clinging to his armour, he remembers listlessly searching for survivors with his men and knowing deep down that there wouldn’t be any. It had been a message, a threat, meant to demoralize the men that fought in the War.

There were so many bodies, but he’d seen so many in his life that he had become disconnected and numb to the horror. One, however, had stuck with him over the years.

There had been a Twi’lek in the ruins of a collapsed farmhouse, dried blood pooled around the still body and staining their blue skin. The stomach had been heavy and round with an advanced pregnancy, and Bly - well, Bly had panicked.

He had lunged forward, could still remember the burn in his knees and back from the weight of his armour, and he had pulled out a blade. All he could think about was trying to save the baby, trying to have one sign of _life_ in all the horribleness of death that surrounded him all the time. He had just wanted to save someone, to have proof that it was all worth it. He hadn’t known then, that the unborn infant was already dead, hadn’t realized that it would have suffocated when it’s carrier died.

Bly hadn’t known that there was nothing to save.

Aayla had found him, had sensed his distress, and the sight she had come across had been a gruesome one. He’d been covered in blood that was too old to run down his armour, staring blankly at the wall, a dead infant in his stained hands. He still remembers the child that would never live, that must have been so badly wanted by the existence of the nursery tucked away and mockingly undamaged by the destruction. If the village hadn’t been attacked, it would have been born within the month; it had been small and cold in his hands, with four perfectly formed limbs, two little nubs that would never grow into lekku, and no life at all running through its small chest.

He had cried then, when Aayla had taken the corpse from him, her expression mournful as she’d held it with such natural care and gentleness. She had held him, uncaring of the blood on his armour, and had let him sob into her shoulder. She had guided him from that ruined farm when he’d had no tears left to cry, had let him bury the carrier and child together, and she had carved a stone to mark their grave. It was doubtful that anyone would live there again. That anyone would visit that grave on a small farm in an unimportant village, but Bly remembers. He’d tucked them into his memories, and carried them with him so that they would be eternal. He’d remembered that blue Twi’lek and the child that would never live, and they haunted him.

Now he remembers that body, and he sees Aayla in their place, and the nightmares grow worse as her pregnancy progresses. He sees her laying dead on the floor, their child in her arms, the both of them grey with death. Most times, his mind tortures him with the image of them dead by his hands, and the worst part of it is that it could have happened. If Fives hadn’t discovered the chips, hadn’t revealed the Sith’s plot, then Bly would have killed them.

He wakes up sweating more often than not, feeling his _riduur_ ’s blood on his hands and seeing their bodies everywhere he turns. He wakes up in the large bed in the apartment he shares with his wife in the Jedi Temple, with a warm body pressed against his own and sleepy hazel-pink eyes watching him with loving worry.

“Are you alright, Bly?” Aayla asks, trailing a strong hand across his chest, feeling his racing heart. Her Ryl accent is thicker in the morning, just one of the little things about her that he had fallen in love with. A gentle kiss is pressed against his broad shoulder, and Bly rolls over onto his back, dislodging his wife from her place against his spine, reaching up with one hand to grab hers, the other moving to press against the swell of their child growing inside of her.

His chest is heaving, limbs shaking. He can still feel it all, all the terror and the horror. It had been so much worse that night, the dreams even more horrific despite the amazing news they had gotten the day before. They would be having a _daughter_ , a little girl to love and protect and teach; she was growing healthy and strong, and soon Bly would get to meet her.

And yet he still dreams of killing them both, so what does that make Bly? Unable to be happy, only scared of what he could do to them; what kind of horrible person is he?

Aayla continues watching him, squeezing his hand to draw him back from his dark thoughts. “Bly,” she says quietly, “where did you go?”

“I’m still here.” His voice is rough, painful to hear, and like he had been screaming. Aayla stares at him, probing and searching, and he offers her a shaky smile. “Just memories, I haven’t left you.”

Aayla curls closer to him, letting a lek splay across his neck, tickling him with each expressive twitch as she presses a kiss to his jaw and rests her chin on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it, _ma sareen_ Bly?” She asks, “Your mind is troubled.”

Bly lets out a shuddering breath, the phantom scent of blood on his tongue. “Do you remember that farm?” He blurts, grip tightening on his _riduur_ ’s hand, “The one with - with the nursery?”

Aayla’s expression softens even further, eyes lighting with pained sympathy. “Oh, Bly.” She breathes, moving a second hand to press against the one Bly is resting on her stomach. There’s a flutter of movement under his palm, their daughter moving under Aayla’s skin, and Bly feels tears springing into his eyes.

There’s not really much either can say, but the silence is comforting.

“I’m sorry that you had to experience that Bly.” His _riduur_ whispers, and Bly slides his eyes away from her exposed stomach to meet her gentle gaze. “You didn’t deserve that, no one does.”

“I keep seeing it - what happened there.” Bly chokes out, throat full of glass, and tears hot on his skin. “But it’s you now - you and the _ik’aad_.” He shivers, and Aayla’s lek smooths across his shoulder, comforting and soft. “And - and it’s my fault - the chip - it took over.”

“The chip is gone, dearest Bly.” Aayla moves a hand from his chest to brush against the scar on his temple that Bly, like many of his _vode_ , had decided to keep, as a reminder. “Nothing will happen. Our little one will come into this world, and she won’t know war beyond the pages of her history books, we made sure of it.”

“I know.” Bly whispers, leaning into her hand as she moves her touch from his temple to his cheek, tracing the golden tattoos that put him apart from his brothers, and she presses down pointedly over her stomach, letting him feel their child moving under their palms, interlacing their fingers.

“I’m still here, Bly.” She promises, “We’re all still here - you’d never hurt us.” Bly sniffles in response, and Aayla leans closer, gently kissing away his tears. “You’ll be an amazing father.” She whispers against his skin, a promise and a prophecy, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs, “Both of you.”

Aayla smiles against his cheek, quickly gifting him with a sweet, lingering kiss on his lips. “We’ll go see the mind healers in the morning.”

“Okay.” Bly whispers, letting her guide him into rolling onto his side once more, melting into her warmth as she curls around him like a protective shield, kissing the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

“Any time, my love.”


End file.
